


Ferus

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Series: Lykos [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Death, Bloodplay, Knotting, M/M, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5045470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are adapting to their lives as hunters and as werewolves, but life has never been that simple for a Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! The sequel. This will be a WIP, mostly to motivate the author to keep working on it (I have a guilty conscience. What can I say). If you're new to the series, you really should read Lykos before reading Ferus.   
> First off, there will be a lot of violence in this fic. I anticipate it being darker than Lykos, so please take the warnings seriously and check for updates to the tags as each chapter goes up. I have tagged for some eventualities, so not everything noted is included in the first chapter.  
> In regard to the animal death warning, Sam and Dean are weres. They will occasionally kill animals for food and I will probably include some level of detail at some point.   
> I have a lot of ideas for this fic and will update when I can, but please know I don't have a set endgame in mind yet. I'm going to bring in some canon elements and see how the story evolves with those in place.

Sam’s claws rend through the flesh of the wendigo, rank blood spilling over his fur and making him cringe. He snaps a chunk out of the thing’s neck and leaps away, leaving it wheezing in his wake. Dean’s there in an instant, splashing it with gasoline and flicking a lit book of matches onto it. Flames burst to life, eating up the gas and sending a wave of heat through the small clearing. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Sam watches the creature burn. He gives a pleased growl when Dean’s fingers rake through his neck fur, tangling in it as they wait for the wendigo to burn to ash. Sam stands when the last flame flickers out, shaking his fur and sending drops of half-congealed blood flying. 

“You little bitch,” Dean laughs, and then it’s a chase back to the car. Dean’s shift is audible, clothes ripping and heavy footsteps turning to heavier pawsteps as he follows Sam. 

A creek washes away most of the gunk, Dean tackling his mate into the water and rolling through it until the droplets falling from Sam’s fur run clear. There’s only a short distance from there to the Impala, gleaming sleekly in the dark. 

Shifting back, Dean digs towels out of the trunk. Sam growls when one lands on his head, whipping it at Dean as he gets to his feet. 

“Jerk.” 

“Whatever, Cujo. You’re not getting into my car all wet, we’ll never get the smell out.” The rib earns Dean a fanged smile, but Sam buffs himself dry regardless. Dean drags clean clothes from his duffle, dressing while watching Sam. His little brother has filled out these past few months; shoulders broadening and packing on muscle that’s as much a result of hunting as it is their species change. Smooth, tanned skin practically begs for touch and Dean can see the moment Sam scents his arousal. 

“Enjoying the view?” Gold shines behind hazel, and Dean knows his own eyes are flaring red.

“Always. We’re gonna have to take a raincheck, though. Hear that?” 

Sam tilts his head, listening. Faintly, there’s the sound of sirens. “Someone reported the smoke.” 

“Probably. So let’s put some highway between us and them, then we’ll rehash just how much I enjoy looking at you.” 

The Impala’s purr sparks the adrenaline of the hunt back up, and Dean can’t help but push her to the limit, peeling down the road and grinning at the exalted look on Sam’s face. Sirens and the stink of burnt flesh fades into the distance, drowned out by pine and mate scent. The full moon is in two days; Dean can feel the pull under his skin and the glow of Sam’s eyes in the dark tells him his brother does as well. 

“Where do you think?” 

“Bobby wanted us to stay close; Minnesota’s out the question, at least for now. Locals are going to be on high alert with all those hikers going missing. Maybe Nebraska?” 

“Sounds good,” Sam says, yawning. He stretches and his muscles flex beneath his tight tee. Dean doesn’t miss the smirk that lets him know Sam’s showing off on purpose. He hits the gas, the roar of the Impala only feeding into the adrenaline and lust buzzing through him. The sooner they get to Nebraska, the better. 

**  
  
  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to try to post a new chapter every Wednesday for consistency's sake.  
> Also, there is in fact animal death in this chapter, as well as rough/bloody sex and discussions of mpreg (but no actual mpreg mkay?) I really haven't decided if mpreg will be a thing. I suspect probably not, but I can't guarantee that.

Leaves crackle under Dean’s paws as he runs, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He can sense Sam, just off to his right as they barrel through the woods. Ahead of them, a pronghorn bolts through the trees, separated from the rest of the herd; Dean can hear it’s heartbeat racing in panic and fear.

 

_I got this one._

 

Pushing a little harder, Dean pulls ahead of Sam and times his leap so the crashes onto the animal’s back, sending it crashing to the ground. He manages to get his teeth around its neck, biting deep and shaking his head until the creature goes limp.

 

Sam tears into its belly and Dean snarls when it looks as though the omega is going to start eating without him.

 

His mate’s head jerks up blood dripping from his jaw and there’s a terrifying moment where those hazel eyes lack recognition. A flash of gold and then Sam’s moving over to make room for Dean. He bites and twists, tearing the heart free and nudging it toward Dean in apology.

 

_Sorry, Dean._

 

Dean snaps it up and bites off half, tossing the other up in the air for Sam to snatch. Forgiveness.

 

Together, they make fast work of the pronghorn, knowing that the scent of blood will soon draw other carnivores and scavengers. Blood steams in the frigid fall air, warm food in their bellies chasing off what little chill makes it through their fur. Sam seems content enough, gnawing on a leg bone in such a dog-like manner that Dean can’t help but huff in laughter. Quickly, he reaches out to grab the other end, and they tug the bone between them playfully.

 

A snap of a twig alerts Dean to the arrival of a coyote, and he snarls at it in warning. Sam nudges him with his head though - _leave it, Dean, we’re done anyway -_  and Dean shoots the coyote a look before heading back through the trees. Warm and full, they make their way back to the campground, shifting back a short distance from their tent and sprinting to it to avoid being seen.

 

Inside has chilled in their absence, but the piles of blankets and clothing gathered from the Impala make a comfortable nest. The air heats up quickly from the warmth of their bodies, temperatures at a high during the peak of the full moon and Sam’s pending heat. They tumble into the pile together, Sam sprawling out under Dean and baring his throat to his alpha. Dean takes the invitation, sinking his teeth into Sam’s neck, urging his canines to sharpen and feeling the thrill at the taste of Sam’s blood in his mouth when the claiming scar gets reopened, the sound of his mate’s cry in the air. It’s then that the scent of heat flares and, for a moment, Dean wonders if they would have been better off fucking in the woods, snow be damned.

 

Still, he urges Sam up onto hands and knees, gripping a hip in one hand and guiding in his cock with the other. Sam is slick and hot, deliciously tight as Dean thrusts in. Letting go of his cock, he leans forward to grab a fistful of Sam’s hair and yanks his brother’s head up, enjoying the arch of that broad back and the way Sam tightens up at the pull.

 

Nails dig into hips and Dean can feel Sam’s blood well around where they’ve broken skin; he fucks Sam hard and deep, grunting on every thrust. He’s glad the campground is empty, with Sam practically howling in even his human form and making no effort to stifle the sounds he makes. He lets out a loud, choked-off yell when Dean knots him and the growl that tears out of Dean’s throat definitely isn’t human.

 

“F-fuck, Dean, alpha, please-” Sam gasps.

 

With blood-tacky fingers, Dean reaches around to grip Sam’s cock, only needing a handful of strokes before he’s spilling onto the blanket below him, hole throbbing around Dean’s knot as he comes.

 

Sliding his hand up, Dean cups his mate’s belly, pressing down until he swears he can feel his own knot. The wolf in him whispers dark things about possession and mating and pups, and Dean has to wonder about that last. It’s been months since they were bitten, more than one heat and rut having passed, and despite all the wolf’s insistence, he’s pretty certain their anatomy hasn’t changed quite like that.

 

Gentler now, he coaxes Sam down so they’re laying on their sides, tugging a blanket over top of their naked bodies. Still, his hand drifts down over Sam’s middle and there’s a long silence only interrupted by Sam’s panting.

 

“Yours says it, too, doesn’t it,” Sam says after a while.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Pups. My wolf keeps . . . muttering about pups, about not catching. Like something’s wrong.”

 

“S’nothing wrong, Sammy. You’re a guy. You don’t exactly have the equipment for babies.”

 

Sam barks a laugh, some of the tension bleeding out of him. “I guess. Although we are werewolves, man. I’m not exactly supposed to have fangs and claws either.”

 

“Yeah, well. Shit happens. Not like wolfy babies are in the lore either.”

  
Sam just hums an acknowledgement at that, burrowing further back into Dean’s arms. It’s not long before Sam’s asleep, leaving only Dean awake to wait out the knot, trying vainly to forget the feral look in his little brother’s eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wakes to Sam straddling his lap, reaching down to give Dean a couple of firm strokes before sinking onto his cock. Sam’s beautiful in the half morning light, eyes glimmering and muscles shifting beneath smooth skin. There’s no rush today, no moon driving their lust; only the instinctive matefuckclaim that’s always lurking in the back of Dean’s mind. He uses his hands to coax the roll and rise of Sam’s hips, bracing his feet on the nest of blankets below them so he can thrust up into his mate.

 

Sam grinds down with a sharp thrust, tossing his head back when Dean’s knot catches and fills him fast and hard. Come spills over Dean’s belly when his brother comes, hole squeezing his knot and milking his cock. The flood of come is trapped inside Sam, who slumps over Dean’s chest to wait out the tie.

 

“Nice wakeup call, Sammy,” Dean mumbles into the sweaty tangle of his brother’s hair. Sam snorts, nuzzling sleepily against Dean’s skin and doesn’t answer.

 

They break camp after a few more hours of sleep, bundling the tent and blankets back into the Impala. There’s a voicemail waiting on Dean’s phone when he turns it back on, and Sam’s ears pick up the tinny sound of Bobby’s voice. Dean calls him back immediately, putting the phone on speaker even though Sam would have no trouble making out the words if he didn’t.

 

“What’s goin’ on, Bobby?” Dean asks as soon as the older hunter picks up.

 

There’s a beat of silence and Bobby sighs. Sam can feel dread crawling up his spine in the moments before the other man finally speaks.

 

“There’s been attack. At the Roadhouse. Ellen’s the only one who made it out.”

 

“Ellen - you mean Ash? Who else? Bobby, where’s Jo?” Dean demands all at once, thumping his hand on the steering wheel in frustration.

 

“Take a breath, boy. Jo was out but Ash . . and I’m not sure who else was there. Ellen had run into town, found the place destroyed when she got back.”

 

“We can be there in a couple hours,” Dean says tightly.

 

“No. You two head for my place. Ellen’s gonna meet us here. She needed to get out of dodge before the locals started askin’ too many questions. I’ll call you soon as I know more, so you can hit the books. And call Jo. Tell her to try answerin’ her phone once in a while.”

 

Dean says goodbye to Bobby and starts the Impala. Sam sits back in the seat next to him, staring out the window in shock and anger. They dial Jo again and again, but she never picks up. That doesn’t sit right with Sam either, but no one would put it past Jo to ignore them if she was trying to avoid her mother. Dean finally leaves a gruff message, demanding that she call him back and tosses the phone violently on the seat.

 

The car roars down the highway in silence, and it seems far too long before they’re rolling up to Singer Salvage. Ellen’s truck is parked in the yard next to Bobby’s, and Dean eases the Impala in alongside.

 

Bobby and Ellen are sitting at the kitchen table, books and papers spread out in front of them; Ellen’s eyes are red rimmed, mouth tight, while Bobby looks ready to shoot the next thing that moves. Sam and Dean take turns patting the older woman lightly on the shoulder, and she shoots them acknowledging looks, but doesn’t smile.

 

“What’ve you got?” Sam asks, breaking the tense silence.

 

Wordlessly, Bobby pushes a set of photos across the table. They’re low quality, taken with a camera phone, but they’re clear enough for Sam and Dean to make out the paw prints. Bobby’s hand is in one, next to the print in the ground, and the comparison makes it clear just how large the animal who made these had to be.

 

“Wolves.” Dean’s tone is flat, furious, and Sam can practically feel his brother’s hackles rise. He makes a soft sound in his throat, just enough to catch Dean’s attention and the other man takes a deep breath. Sam’s relieved to see there’s no red in his mate’s eyes when he looks up; shifting now, even slightly, could have disastrous consequences around anyone but Bobby.

 

“A pack. The prints varied in size and depth; there were a number of cars, too, judging by the tire tracks.”

 

“They drove to come and go as quickly as possible,” Sam murmurs. “This was planned, not an attack of opportunity.”

 

“We figure they went in as a group, used the element of surprise. They would’ve had to, to take down all the hunters that were there. Must’ve killed them all and drenched the place in gasoline for it to burn that fast.” Ellen’s voice is rough, but firm, eyes hard as she stares at the pictures spread out before them. Her chair scrapes across the floor as she shoves away from the table, and the back door slams behind her. Bobby just shakes his head, dragging his laptop back over.

 

“We’ll need to find out where the pack came from, where they’ve gone. There was a lot of good hunters in that bar, and there’ll be a lot more looking for those werewolves.”

 

Sam boots up his computer too, starting the hunt for strange deaths, looking for any patterns to indicate the presence of wolves. Dean takes the opportunity to check the perimeter, burning off some of his furious energy so he can settle into help. Standing in the moonlit yard, he flips his phone open, staring at the empty screen.

  
“Damnit, Jo,” he breathes, and hits dial. Ice settles fully in his stomach when it goes straight to voicemail. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god y'all. Denvercon was amazing but kicked my ass. Sorry this chapter is short but I'm really trying to decide just how I need things to fall into place to get to where I want to be with this fic.


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